Dance upon the Threshold
by IceCreamDoodle13
Summary: A surreal nightmare rife with metaphors and implications, and an angst-filled glimpse into House's psyche. No spoilers or pairings. Please read and review.


_**Title: **__Dance upon the Threshold.  
><em>_**Summary: **__A surreal nightmare rife with metaphors and implications, and an angst-filled glimpse into House's psyche. No spoilers or pairings. Please read and review.  
><em>_**Rating: **__T.  
><em>_**Warnings: **__Pretty creepy and angst-filled.  
><em>_**A/N: **__I have no idea where this came from, but a metaphor came to mind and just kept snowballing until it became this dark, weird little one-shot. I repeat that this is not a happy fic. That being said, enjoy!_

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><p>You are standing on the threshold of a house. You are not really sure what is in the house. You have not had time to look because you are too busy defending it. You do not know if someone told you to do this, but you know it is vital. There are monsters outside. Not ones with sharp claws and horrific features, but sickly-sweet smiling ones. <em>Lying<em> ones, and they're advancing. Slowly but surely, waltzing and giggling their shrill giggles, dancing their pretty little dance closer and closer.

You hurl everything you have to keep them back. Their smiles fade but they don't stop. You try your hardest to keep blocking the doorway. This house has no door, and faintly you wonder if that's what makes them so determined to get in. One thing you are sure of is that you are determined that they should not get in. Not ever, they must not get in your house.

They are not what they appear, these monsters. Their mirage is quite beautiful. On the surface they look innocent and kindly, but when they turn slightly you see past the cardboard front to the seething, twisting mass of destruction behind it. They must not cross the threshold. You must keep hurling your weapons. The only good thing about you is that you never run out of things to throw.

As time goes on you become more confident. You will not fool for the monsters sweet smiles; you will never let one of them in. Until you do. One who appears so wonderful that you are blinded, and step aside to allow her entry. Only once she crosses the threshold does she give you a leering smile, and open her hand to wreak destruction upon your house. Then she skips away merrily, nodding to herself in satisfaction.

You return to your defence of the heavily damaged house, and try to ignore how it smarts. Your job has never been more important. No one must cross the threshold. But then through the mist, you spot a monster. Its mask is more carefully polished than any you have seen before, and you cannot see past it. This monster is tricky, and will not turn to the side so that you can see what lies behind.

You break all your rules and call out to this monster, invite it over the threshold. This seems to satisfy the others somewhat, and they go spiralling off in their endless dance, finally giving you the opportunity to get a proper look at the inside of your house. What you see hurts. It reeks of neglect and damaged goods and your towering store of sharp, sharp weapons. The monster raises a thick eyebrow at your pathetic accommodation, but makes no move to leave. You are glad; it's been a long time since you had anyone to talk to.

And talk you do. The actual words slip from your grasp, twisting away from you before you can analyse their meaning. You feel a little lost without your usually excellent sight, but you convince yourself that words matter little. But actions do, and overtime you see your monster-friend drift back towards the doorway, always with careful eyes on you, gauging your reaction. He never crosses the threshold completely though.

Remarks are cast off like the toys of a spoilt child. The dissatisfaction about the poor state of your house is abundantly clear. You find yourself fighting back almost instinctively. Weapons come out instead of words, or else the words melt away entirely. And still the remarks pour in. Critical observations about the contents of your house that do not sting as much as they should; you are still hazy on what exactly is in this house that you've been guarding for so very long.

Time goes on and you feel him growing bored. Long-suffering sighs fill the house, and sometimes you wish you could just show him that the doorway is still right there. He could leave, it would be okay.

Except that it wouldn't be okay, not for you. You fear that without the distraction the contents of the house would become clear to you at last, and you would see them for the wreck that all others seem to. More sighs, more remarks, they truly seem to be filling the house now. They pour from all sides, liquid hate that is pooling in the confined space. It turns colder and colder, rises higher and higher and its icy cold and tastes heavy with disappointment. You're drowning and all you can think is that at last you are getting what you deserve, though why you deserve it escapes you…

House gasped and kicked at the sweat-soaked sheets, listening to his heart beat at his eardrums and throb in his mutilated thigh. As he acclimatised to where he was, he thought that he could hardly blame a simple nightmare about a house and some childish beasts for the fear and repulsion coursing through his veins.

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><p><em><strong>AN: **__I am in no way saying that House's relationships are this toxic, nor do I intend to character bash, but I know from experience that pessimism and pills can lead to some dark dreams and even darker thoughts. I would adore a review to let me know your thoughts._


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